DeadLetters
by Calex
Summary: Ginny gets an idea from a muggle book and decides to try it out for herself, thus starting a correspondence with someone entirely unexpectable...Co-written with Silveretta


Author's Note: Okay, this is the prologue and the first chapter of a joint collaboration between myself and Silveretta. Hope this story is well received. Reviews and feedback is very much welcome.

Disclaimer: We own NOTHING. All goes to JK Rowling. We are not making any profit from this.

Author(s): Calex-Blaise and Silveretta-Ginny

Rating: PG

Summary: Upon reading a book in Muggle studies, Ginny finds an idea which intrigues her, the concept of "dead letters" and starts an anonymous interaction between herself and a very good looking Slytherin. What will the results be of this clashing and yet similar of two personalities? Sparks fly and tempers rise while two people from opposite spectrums of life are drawn closer and closer to each other in a relationship even more forbidden than Romeo and Juliet's. The results? Often humorous and sad.

**Dead Letters**

Prologue- the way it all began

A small girl with bright red hair- her family's trademark- slipped into the library un-noticed. She was glad for this lack of attention; she couldn't help but feel rather stupid. But it was worth a shot, after all, who would know? She clutched the piece of parchment in her hands, checking it was still there. Now, where to put it? It had to be somewhere that no-one else would think of looking, but it would also need to be found. She cast her blue eyes around the vast room, trying to find a section that was deserted enough. They fell on the Muggle Studies section. Perfect. There was no-one in there. Now to find a book to put it in. An obscure one. Picking up various titles, she settled on one which had been checked out once… in 1943. Excellent. It was out-of-date as well, so no-one would want it. Flipping open _Muggles for the Muddled _by H.G. Hatherwood, she slipped the parchment in-between the back cover and the index. It was only a small piece of parchment, slightly yellowing, only a scrap that she had found in the bottom of her bag. On it, she had scribbled a hasty note, which read:

_Dear…whoever finds this I suppose,_

_I saw this idea in a muggle book, and thought it might be interesting to try it out. The idea is that we leave notes here in this book, or dead letter box. It's an anonymous way of communication, which is fine by me. I don't really do people. But I'm not anti-social, society's just anti-me. I guess you'll want to know something about me. Well, I'm a sixth year, and a Gryffindor. I have other siblings here, maybe I'll tell you about them some time. I hate living in their shadow the whole time, it's always, 'Why can't you be more like your brother?' or 'Your brother never got into trouble at school'. I'm bloody sick of it. Another thing I'm sick of is being the only girl. I'm outnumbered and have no chance to be well…girly._

_But enough about me. How about you? Reply soon, and leave it in the same place as you found this._

_Till then,_

_V _  

Replacing the letter on the shelf, she looked furtively around, making sure that no one had seen her. When she was sure that the coast was entirely clear, she stepped out of the muggle section, not turning back, head bowed down. 

                                                            *

            He felt slightly bored. His housemates were acting quite the immature prats they always did and he really didn't feel up to acting, today. As he walked through the library, he saw how people shrank back from him and how the girls went doe eyed and slack jawed. He resisted the need to roll his eyes. Wouldn't do, after all, for him to show emotion other than derision or haughtiness. He selected a table far away from the hoard of last minute revisers, couples seeking refuge to snog and the actual boffs. Ravenclaws, most of them. He sneered as he dropped gracefully down onto a seat far away from people. Ah, the muggle section. How wonderful for the people of Hogwarts to see how thoroughly useless muggles were.

            He sat down for awhile, but the very boredom that drove him out of his house made him restless once again. So he stood up abruptly and walked to the shelves, lightly skimming through the titles. They had some muggle fiction and textbooks, biographies and some books on muggle life. He was going through the 'H' section when something caught his eye. Curiously, he reached for the book and saw that a piece of paper was sticking out from it. He opened the book and took it out. The paper was slightly crumpled and yellowing, so it gave him the impression of it being there for quite some time. He skimmed through the letter.

_Dear…whoever finds this I suppose,_

My, what a great way to start. He couldn't help the caustic comment that came automatically upon reading it.

_I saw this idea in a muggle book…_Blah blah blah. _Anonymous way of communicating…_Blah blah blah. Hmmm… Interesting idea. Maybe he could…Wait. What was he thinking??? He made a face.  He wasn't going to do this because he was interested. No, he merely wanted to scam the poor sucker. Yeah. That was it. No real interest whatsoever. Just a simple scamming. Uh huh.

            He quickly looked around, wondering if someone was lying in wait to catch him out in a moment of…what was it? Weakness? Stupidity? Evil genius? Either way, he didn't want anyone's attention. So he slunk back to his seat, took out a fresh parchment and a quill and began to write.

            _Dear V,_

_            You found a taker to the idea. Yeah, it's me. I don't know if you're still here or if this thing's been here ages, the parchment is yellowed with age, it seems. But hey, who knows, right?_

_About me? I go here too. I'm in the house of Snakes. Slytherin. Also known as the house for future-Death-Eaters Extraordinaire. What a joke. See, most of us don't even want to be Death Eaters, least of all my friend and I. We abhor the idea of…well, mostly bowing to an idiot who has an obsession with a teenaged boy. I have doubts about his sexual preference. Although now that thought has made me ill. Ugh. Potter might be keen on the idea, what with him not realising Granger's hot for him and all. He does seem to hang with the Weasel a lot. _

_Anyway, I'm an only child. Come from a long line of Slytherins. No inbreeding in this family, no sirree. We're surprisingly clean. That was a joke, by the way. No one seems to get my jokes. I like the idea of anonymity. Unlike you, society can't get enough of me while I crave loneliness. It's quite sad._

_I do have to go. Will I hear from you, now?_

_Z._

            With that, he slid the parchment in the book, placed it back in the shelf and left. His thoughts were taken with the stranger. He wondered if she would indeed reply.

Chapter 1- Replies 

****

Gods, could the day get any worse? First she had tripped up just as she was leaving the Great Hall after lunch, causing her bag to open, and quills, books and homework had gone flying. The only slight comfort was that Malfoy and his boyfriend Zabini hadn't been there. As she was scrabbling around on the floor Harry had walked past her. Why did he always have to see her when she looked like an idiot? It wasn't that she still had that ridiculous crush on him any more, but he still looked at her as if she was the eleven-year old girl who blushed every time he looked at her and sent him singing valentines. Then again Ron did too. He was always playing the over-protective older brother which had been nice in her first year or two, but had crossed the line into a severe irritation. Even the thought of her going out with any boy at all seemed to horrify him. 

Potions had been a nightmare. She was glad for the fact that they had it with the Hufflepuffs and not the Slytherins. Even so, Snape had been in a foul mood, and hovered over her so menacingly that she had managed to add double the amount of powdered Hemlock than she was meant to. This had resulted in a barrage of cutting comments from the Grand High Bastard and sympathetic glances from her class-mates. She hated sympathy. Sympathy for her tatty books, second-hand robes, lack of owl, her poverty in general. At least she didn't have to see Snape every day. But there wasn't a day went by that someone didn't comment on her clothes, books etc., or simply give her a look of pity. All she could do was grit her teeth and say something along the lines of

"Well, you know how it is…I'm sure things will pick up soon."

            What a joke. Things pick up? It was about as likely as the Chudley Cannons winning a match. Less likely even. The money from dad's win had disappeared quickly, too quickly. The little amount that had been saved had been deposited in their vault at Gringotts. Those goblins probably laughed about them. Saving furiously, in the hopes of someday being able to buy a bigger house. She very much doubted that they could even afford a room. 

            She scurried out of potions as quickly as she could, only to run smack into none other than Malfoy in the virtually deserted corridor. He smirked, those harsh grey eyes dancing with malice. He held onto her shoulders, as if examining her.

            "Well, well, well, what have we here? Why, if it isn't the little weasel girl. You are getting desperate aren't you? Throwing yourself at me like that. I thought it would be a while till you turned to prostitution."

            "Shut the fuck up Ferret Boy, take your rodent paws off me. If, and I mean _if  I ever turned to prostitution, I wouldn't bother coming to you. A gigolo would be more your thing. But be careful, Zabini might get jealous."_

            A slight colouring rose to his cheeks. But he wasn't embarrassed, he was angry. 

            "Be careful what you say Weasel." He hissed in a menacing tone "You wouldn't want anyone to spread rumours that there's a prostitute in Hogwarts would you?"

            "And you wouldn't want anyone telling everyone about you and…oh, I don't know…Harry Potter, would you?" she said, her voice shaking a little. Perhaps Malfoy was straight, but to be even associated with Harry in any way would ruin him.

            "You wouldn't dare. Besides, no-one would believe you."

            "But they _would _believe an owl from Harry telling you how wonderful you were in bed the other night, you might not know it, but I've been forging letters since I started here…But that owl won't come if you don't tell anyone about this, or me being a prostitute. Now if you'll excuse me Ferret Boy, I have to get to the library."

            Without waiting for a reply, she pushed past him and walked as quickly as she could to the library on jelly legs. She may have seemed confident on the outside, but inside her heart was beating overtime. 

            The stillness of the library calmed her. The few students that were in there working didn't give her a second glance, and those in there for kissing purposes were too engrossed in what they were doing to see the small red-head slip past them into the Muggle Studies section.

            She froze. Someone was in there. A third year who was new to the subject most likely. What should she do? A thought struck her. _What if they had her book? _

'Be rational girl.' She mentally chided herself 'There are at least three hundred books in here.'

But still…  Feigning an air of someone who couldn't care less about the books in said section, she walked over to the H section. Narrowing her eyes, she searched for the book. It was there. She let out a breath that she didn't realise that she'd been holding. But had anyone replied? There was a piece of parchment sticking out, yes, but it could be hers. She removed the book slowly with shaking hands. What an idiot she must look to that third-year Hufflepuff boy. At least he wasn't in Slytherin. But what would a Slytherin be doing in the Muggle Studies section?

            Crossing to the table adjacent to the one the boy was at, she opened the book slowly. Someone _had_ replied! The parchment was pale and crisp. New. She hardly dared take it out. But she had to if she wanted to see what they had said. Taking the parchment in her hands, her brown eyes scanned it. Her eyes widened at one part. _Slytherin?! Wonders would never cease. And a Slytherin who didn't want to be a death-eater? The next line made her stifle a giggle. But she couldn't help but feel sick. Harry and Ron? There was a vision to put you off your food. But now she thought about it…ugh. The person hadn't said whether they were a male or female. But it was fairly obvious that it was a 'he'. It was rare that women became Death Eaters. Also, the parchment had a slight smell of a very male scent. Just slight. But it smelled nice, fresh. __Will I hear from you, now?_

Of course she would! It was hard to suppress the grin that was spreading over her face. Someone wanted her to reply. They didn't know her, but they wanted to. She dug around in her bag for some parchment. Right, setback number one. No parchment. Where would she get some from? Hermione! She would have at least five sheets spare. The first place to look for her would be here, the library. Which section? What subject did she like? An easier question would be what didn't she like. She stood up, clutching the parchment as if it would fly away from her. After a quick tour of the library, Hermione was nowhere to be found. Next stop, the Gryffindor tower.

            After telling the Fat Lady the password (quaelibet) she ran up to the seventh year girls' dormitory. She knocked tentatively on the door, praying that someone was in there. A voice called out

"Come in!"

Pushing the heavy door open, she slipped inside cautiously. Hermione was sitting on her bed reading. Parvati and Lavender were also in there, deep in conversation on Lavender's bed. Hermione looked up and smiled,

"Hi Ginny, what's up?"

Smiling, she crossed and seated herself on Hermione's bed, crossing her legs underneath her.

            "Um, hi Hermione. Do you have any parchment that I could have?"

            "I think I do, hang on," Hermione marked the place in her book and slid off the bed. Where Ginny was short and curvy, Hermione was tall and somewhat lanky. Her light brown hair hung around her face as bushy as ever. Kneeling before her cupboard, she opened a drawer and rifled around in it. She straightened up, holding a piece of fresh parchment. She returned to the bed and handed it to her. She took it, trying to slow her heartbeat down, she folded it carefully and slipped it into her pocket with the letter.

            "Thanks Hermione, I don't know where all mine goes."

            "No problem. What's it for anyway?"

            Oh hell. She could feel a flush rising to her cheeks.

            "Oh, it's just for…some…homework. Snape set us an essay to do and I ran out of parchment." She stammered, fiddling with the end of one a strand of red hair.

            Hermione eyed her suspiciously.

            "OK, well, good luck with it. I could check it when you're done if you like."

            "That would be great, thank you." Jumping off the bed, she shot out the door, causing it to bang behind her. Once on the landing, she debated where to go. The common room was too crowded, and someone might see what she was doing, and ask questions. Her dormitory seemed safest, not many people would be in there. She walked a few metres down the corridor, stopping outside her door. She stuck her head round it. There was only one other person in there, Freya Hardwater. Ginny slipped in, giving Freya a brief smile before settling on her own bed. She liked Freya, yes, but who couldn't? She was small and petite, with straight black hair that reached half-way down her back. Her green eyes danced when she was excited, and she was always good-natured and kind to everyone. Except Slytherins. 

            When she was seated, leaning against the pillows, she unfolded both the letter and the piece of parchment, smoothing them flat. Taking a quill from her bedside cupboard, she held it poised about the parchment for a while, before beginning to write.

_Dear Z,_

_Wow, I didn't actually think that anyone would want to reply to this, or even find it. I am still here, sorry about the state of the parchment, it's only an old scrap that I had in the bottom of my bag. _

_I wasn't expecting a Slytherin to reply, that's for sure. I didn't think you lot even came into the Muggle Studies section, apart from sneering at the ones who want to learn about muggles. Sorry, that's really stereotypical of me, but I've never been particularly partial to Slytherins; then again, they've never been partial to me. Or any Gryffindor. I'm glad that you don't want to be a Death Eater, that takes guts. Well, we all have guts, but…you know what I mean. _

_I know how you feel, having a weird sense of humour, I have one too. I've given up on people even trying to understand me. My family are mainly ex-Gryffindors, with a few Ravenclaws thrown in. I think that my great, great great-uncle Silus was a Slytherin, but we don't talk about him much. We're all Purebloods, and I guess your family must be too, if they're all Slytherins. _

_I also know what you meant when you mentioned Harry and Ron being close. Harry can be so dense at times, he doesn't get that Hermione likes him, but it's so obvious. It must be weird, seeing them called by their first-names. But I'm around them so much, it seems natural to do that. But speaking of…interesting sexual preferences, I've always wondered which way Malfoy swings. I mean, what with the hair and all, it only makes sense for him to be a little on the feminine side. Not that I mind gays or anything. One of my brothers is gay. Gave mum a real shock when she found out though._

_Just writing Malfoy's name makes me think of what a prick he is. Sometimes I wish he would fall off that damn broom of his in a Quidditch match and break his neck or something. But don't let that give you the idea that I'm blood-thirsty or anything, I just can't stand that…ferret. I wish I had been there when Moody transfigured him. Freya was, (she's a girl in my house) and she told me all about it. I think that Colin Creevy took a picture, but I've never seen it. _

_Well anyway, I'd better go now, thanks for replying, I've had a crap day. I think Snape hates me more than usual, and that's a lot for a Gryffindor. But the feeling is mutual. It's alright for you, being a Slytherin, getting the special treatment and all. _

_Write back,_

_V._

            She scanned it quickly, making sure that she hadn't made a complete fool of herself. Satisfied that she hadn't, she folded both pieces of parchment up and returned them to her pockets. Hurrying out of the tower, she walked as quickly as possible (she didn't want to run seeing as Filch was doing a patrol of the corridors) to the library. It was empty, apart from Madame Pince, who eyed her suspiciously. Giving her a look of innocence- that she had learned from Fred and George- she entered the Muggle Studies section. The book was still lying on the table, open at the index. No-one had bothered with it. That was re-assuring. She folded the parchment in half, slipped it back into the book and shut the covers, making sure that it was still slightly visible. Returning it hastily to the shelf, she left- avoiding eye contact with anything but the floor- and made her way to the Great Hall. 

*

            The sky was blue, the birds were chirping, the wind was gently blowing with hardly a hint of cloud in the sky…it was a nauseatingly beautiful Saturday. So what was he doing here? In the library of all God forsaken places. There was hardly anyone around, most preferring to make the most of the good weather. Didn't get it much in the UK. Rain, yes. Sleet, yeah. Overcast skies, definitely. But sun? sun was a miraculous happening. So again, what in Merlin's name was he doing here?  

            Going around aimlessly through the different aisles, he found himself once again in a familiar one. Muggle Studies, shelf H. Why the sudden interest? He had been avoiding the library for nearly a week, wouldn't do to seem keen. Or to grab someone's attention that he was doing something. And that something being with a Gryffindor of all houses. He made a face at that. All right, he was officially loco. 

            Quietly humming under his breath as he lightly traced a finger over the bindings, his finger finally stopped at the book that he was unconsciously searching for. And yes, a small, white piece of parchment was peeking out. He felt a grin wriggling to get out and stamped down ruthlessly at it. 

            'Remember, Zabini,' he told himself. 'Slytherin. Not supposed to grin. Or smile. Smirk, yes. Sneer, yes. Frowning was acceptable, so was scowling. But never smiling or grinning. Rule no. 5.4c, section three, paragraph 15 of the How To Be A Slytherin/Death Eater handbook.' He couldn't help the almost grin that came out (all properly evil and Slytherin acceptable looking, of course). Yes, he did have a somewhat quirky sense of humour.

            He took the book to the table that he had been sitting in before, right at the corner, covered by shadows. He opened the book, took out the parchment and skimmed through it. He gri, ahem, _smirked_. He frowned when he read about the Golden Trio (otherwise known as the Dream Team, but that's Draco's pet name for them. He'd hate to steal it from him. Merlin knew the bloke would be in a right piss if he found out). She seemed to know them quite well. Then again, he allowed, they were close to most of sodding Gryffindor.  Raised his eyebrow at the mention of a gay brother and snorted at what she said about Malfoy. 

            Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a carefully folded piece of parchment. Rolling back his cuffs, he removed the elegant swan feather quill from it's fastening on his arm. He rolled down the cuffs and reached down to roll up his left trouser leg. On his leg was a small harness with a compartment discreet enough not to show when covered. He opened the compartment and took a small vial of  dark green ink. Placed it on the table along with the other writing utensils. He knew that if someone had seen that, they would have expected something more than just parchment, a quill and some ink. It was oddly reminiscent of cop shows on muggle television. Like Mission Impossible, XXX, CSI…ahem. He'd, uh, heard of it through his halfblooded roommate, Jeremiah Simms. 

            He unfolded the parchment, smoothed the creases out. He'd been carrying it for nearly a week. He might have been in denial, but he was always ready. He picked up the quill, dipped it in the ink, poised it above the parchment and thought. What was he going to say?

            _Dear V,_

_            Yeah, well. I guess not a lot of people would. It's hardly surprising, after all. The people in this school is stupidly closed minded. And don't worry about stereotyping about us poor Snakes. I'd thought twice about replying when you said you were a Gryff! But I guess that curiosity won out. Hell, guessing. I know curiosity won out. Here I am, writing another letter to you, aren't yes. Yes, all of us do tend to have guts. In fact, I'm sure that you do, too. Or are you trying to tell me something, here? And yes, that was meant to be a joke. Go on, laugh. I know you want to…_

_            Ahem. Anyway._

_            You have Slytherin in your blood? My how hard that must be for you to swallow. Or to live down. There goes your shiny Gryffindor reputation down the drain. Oh hell, sorry. It's automatic for me, by now. But still, you. A Gryff having Slytherin blood. Almost makes me laugh, that. I would, but my great-grandmother was rumoured to have almost been sorted into Gryffindor. Only don't go spreading that around!!!_

_            As for the Golden Trio, yes it is rather strange. Then again, you're in their house, so it must be rather hard for you not to refer to them by name. We just tend to call them mudblood, Weasel and Pothead. Or Scarhead. Either one will suffice. As for Pothead not realising that the little mudblood's interested…well, I guess that those glasses were put to his use for a reason. Now, to get him to actually use it…it might help him against falling into yet more plots of his death. I swear, he has not only a death wish, but the most incredible bout of luck (bad or good, I haven't decided) that I've ever seen!_

_            I get you on how you wish Malfoy had suddenly lost all hand or eye coordination and fall off of his broom. Sometimes I wish I could push him off it, myself. And no, it isn't blood thirsty. I'm a Slytherin, I should know. You're just being normal. Malfoy has an incredible ability of making people either hate him or want to smack him upside the head. And damn if he doesn't know it as well. He's not such a bad bloke. He acts like a complete prat, but he's got some good points to him as well._

_            And no, I haven't forgotten that you wanted to know "which way Malfoy swings". I might want to hit the bugger sometimes, but he's still a mate. Yes, we're mates. So run now before you're infected with Malfoy's cooties. You've been warned. You now have my permission to run away screaming._

_            Z._

_p.s__. Special treatment?__ From Snape? Us? He might act like it in classes, but he takes it out on us afterwards. He hates Gryffindor with a passion, but he's not a total git. He's a scary git, but not a complete git. And I'm not just saying it cos he's my head of house or because I get the special treatment in classes. He might not take away points, but if we misbehave in class, we usually have some kind of punishment waiting for us back in the house. Yes, we still have to do punishment. See, he's not all bad. And he probably doesn't hate you, he probably actually likes you, that's why he's being such a prig. What with you being a Gryffindor and all, it must chafe. _

            When he was done, he re-read it, made sure it was okay. Nodded. Reached down to his other leg to another compartment like the one on his left leg. This time he took out an emerald green velvet pouch. From it, he poured some into his palm and sprinkled it lightly over the parchment, then blew it away. Sand, to help it dry quickly. He folded it neatly in half, then he hesitated. Shrugged. Why not use it? 

He parted his robes and lifted it away. He unbuttoned his shirt and a similar harness and compartment was around his waist, lying on his smooth, naturally tanned, absolutely flat stomach. Opening the compartment, he took out a small silver based object and a green piece of wax. Muttering something under his breath, he watched as the wax slowly melted cleanly over the parchment and when enough had gone, it stopped.

He quickly took the silver object and pressed it to the wax, which hardened after it was lifted. Nodding his head in satisfaction, he watched his family crest on the flawless white parchment before putting it in the book. He replaced all the items carefully back in their hiding places, then stood up. He walked with the book at his side, back to the aisle. Put it back where he found it. Then he sighed. Well, that was that, then. He wondered who mystery girl was? He walked towards the door of the library, still thinking of the girl when he bumped into someone, hard. Books flew, two figures crashed to the ground. 

He lay still on the ground, trying to get back together when a groan alerted him to the other person. He felt a scowl flit over his face. The nerve! Not to watch where the hell she was going. His arse hurt like Hades, now.

"Why the hell don't you watch where you're going?" he snapped, getting slowly to his feet. The girl was still dazed, on the ground. "Well?" he bit out when she didn't answer him.

That seemed to make her snap out of it. "Well, excuuuuuuse me!" she snapped back, cinnamon coloured eyes snapping with brilliant temper. "I did have a pile of books obscuring my vision. For the record, why don't _you_ bloody watch where _you're _going?"

He felt disbelief enter his face. This little girl was arguing back? My, wasn't she pretty, though. No, he mentally shook himself. This isn't the time for it, Zabini. Concentrate on making fun of her.

"I see the littlest Weasel has a spine after all," he said in a mocking tone. "So she doesn't forever live in the shadow of her brothers, after all."

Something about what he'd just said bothered him. It tickled at something said not so long ago. Something that should be important, now. But damn! He couldn't remember what it was, now. But he still felt the little niggling sense of familiarity.

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You better believe it. And the name's Ginny, not Weasel."

"Why don't I just call you Cinn? Or should that be Sin?" 

hell, the question came out before he could think. And he did NOT mean for it to come out in that purring tone. Some indescribable emotion was travelling on her face, but then it was gone. He had probably just imagined it.

"Spare me," she spat out. "I'd rather be known as Weasel from you."

"You're hurting my feelings, Cinn," he stepped up closer, seriously invading her personal space. He had to lean down some so that his mouth could be next to her ear. "We don't want that, do we. Cinn?"

A little shiver went through her and he had to bite back a grin. She wasn't as impervious as she acted, was she? His hand went to brush at her cheek. It was silky smooth to the touch, almost flawless. He straightened, but his hand was still at her cheek. Then he travelled up to trace her eyes, her nose, her lips…okay, dangerous territory. He decided to go to her hair. 

He saw her eyes widen as his fingers tangled in silky dark red strands. He was surprised when he felt how cool it was, he'd almost expected to be warm, hot, burning. Like the fire it so resembled. She really was quite pretty. All that wavy, long red hair, thickly lashed cinnamon brown eyes under naturally arched russet brows. Her pale face was tinted with rose and a very light splattering of freckles were on her nose. Even they added to her appeal, made her seem girlish. She was short, barely reaching his shoulder. Very, very curvy, though. He felt his mouth go dry.

"Stop it, Zabini." 

It was said so quietly that he almost missed it. They woke him up, though. Made him remember just who she was and what he was doing to her and where. What it didn't answer, though, was _why_.

"Why should I?" he challenged softly, stalling to get his bearings. Or at least, that was what he told himself.

"Your boyfriend might get jealous," she said and twisted away from his reach. She turned around so that her back faced him and bent down to pick up her books.

"Boyfriend?" he repeated dumbly, mouth dry as he stared at her derrière. She glanced up at him and rolled her eyes.

"Malfoy, Gaylord. Or do you have so many that you've forgotten about them all?"

"Malfoy and I are NOT GOING OUT!!!!" he shouted, her statement enough to wake him up from the enthrallment of her beautiful arse. 

"You know what they say," she shrugged, eyes dancing. "De-Nile is not only a river in Egypt."

"Oh, ha ha," he said, sourly. "How original, Weasel."

"Are we back to Weasel, again?" she asked mildly, straightening up from her task. A wicked smile suddenly appeared on his face.

"Well," he purred seductively, stepping around so that she ended up in his arms, her body pressed to his. Her eyes went wide and he just managed to suppress a smirk. "We could always change that…"

"Ugh! Get your filthy hands off of me, Gaylord. I wouldn't want anything to happen, even if you were the last man on earth and I had to repopulate the planet!"

"That cuts deep, Cinn," he said, laughingly, letting her go. "Au revoir. Till next time."

With that, he saluted her and walked off, hands in pockets and whistling a tune. Her eyes widened when she recognised it. 

"Copa Cabana?"


End file.
